on raising boys.

Trying to raise tender yet hearty men is as easy as learning to be a concert violinist overnight; it feels absolutely impossible somedays. Oh I know they are all tender hearted souls. I witness it in different ways on an almost daily basis. Last week when my youngest was home sick, I let him watch a movie, "Honey I Shrunk The Kids." One aspect of the plot is this: the children in the story are shrunk to the size of ants, then they befriend an ant. Then the ant dies. As a result of this plot twist, I found my little man weeping into his pillow over  the untimely death of the little baby ant. My heart swelled with achey love and I wanted to scoop him up, hold him and wipe away his tears...however, he wanted none of it. He knew that he was vulnerable in his weeping and my show of affection made him more so. It was hard to let that moment go.

Now, I admit I am a mushy hearted old soul. So is the boys' father. I think I knew I was in love with their dad when he had me watch "A Wonderful Life" with him one Christmas and I saw him cry at the very sweet-hearted swelling end. He wears his heart on his sleeve their dad does.  I also know he is tough, yet I also know he was a bit of a nerdy soul in high school, tousled about by the waves of ugly adolescent behavior. 

As my boys' mama,  I would love for them to all be able to be strong enough to raise up the weak in their youth, but strong enough to never be touched by the ugly-hearted bullying and misbehaving that happens throughout life. I am sure this is an impossible task.  My middle son is dyslexic, and fiercely hides this fact from his peers. He experienced bullying by some of his closest friends when he was in first grade (they would corner him and try to make him read) but he only recently shared this experience with me -he carried this around in his wee heart for almost two years, this sadness, this breaking of trust. We no longer go to that school, nor do we live anywhere near those boys, but I shake my fist sometimes at the injustice of life. My middle, perhaps my most sensitive and vulnerable, wears a grumpy defiant shell most days and I wonder how he will navigate adolescence when the time comes. He has a hard time listening to other people's perspective. My adolescent oldest. He too struggles between the dance of the sensitive and the strong. I can see it in his eyes. He has a strong and kind peer group, yet I wonder how they will all fare when they enter high school.

I love all three of my boys so. I would be willing to travel to the ends of the earth if it meant I could find the proper path of the mama that can raise her boys with tender, yet fierce hearts. I know some of my path is learning to let go of my fears, and also letting go of the apron strings I have tied to their wings. I will need to let them go out into the world and discover who they are to the best of their ability, with all its success and all its failures; while I stand up high on a cliff, trying to let them navigate the rocky waters of life on their own.